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I learned quickly Buck's wasn't the place for me. Drunken men with hooded eyes congregated in different areas around the room. Most hovered by the bar, some in slurred and meaningless conversations with people they just met, the rest hollering at me with aggression to get their drink. Younger guys in leather coats got the cheapest beer there was, although it was comparable to sewer water. It was what they could afford.
It reeked of alcohol. I never liked that smell. The music thumped so loud I could barely hear my own thoughts, let alone the hectic orders coming my way each minute. A sleaze would flounder over every now and then, try to spark a conversation, and I would have to blow them off. Occasionally they'd be angry, but most walked away with a scowl.
The red light illuminating the glistening faces made everything seem more packed. I was claustrophobic. I wanted out from the tiny area behind the bar. Fresh air. Maybe a book, under the tree with a clear view of the sunset. A loud bang made me jump.
A man with greasy brown hair slammed his palm on the marble counter. He narrowed his eyes which were barely visible beneath his bunched up, ratty locks, and curled his lips into a scowl. He rummaged in his pockets, lazily and pulled out a one dollar bill, and slammed the flat of his hand on the island. I could tell he was drunk by the way his hand trembled as he stumbled around.
"Beer," he said, slumping onto the bar stool.
I took the bill. With a stoic look, I outstretched my left hand. "You're a dollar short."
"I ain't got a damn dollar."
"I can't sell you anything if you don't have the money, sir." I gritted my teeth and, harder than intended, slammed the bill back on the table. I turned around. I had to deal with men like that all night long. It was as if they didn't know the concept of money. I nearly gagged every time I had to refer to them as sir.
A familiar face appeared in my peripheral vision. Shaggy brown combed back hair, dark eyes, cunning grin. He wore his signature tawny leather and dark blue jeans. In one hand he held a pool stick, the end between his two fingers, lip poking between his sharp teeth as he pointed it skillfully at a red ball. He took the shot. It went in. His smile widened in the slightest, then his gaze met mine. He didn't seem surprised, so I figured he already knew I was there.
I managed to twitch my lips into a smile, although I wasn't feeling too happy at the moment. Dallas winked. I thought he looked real good with the red light casting upon his sharp features.
I didn't realize I was staring until a loud crash made my body jolt. I spun with wide eyes to see glass shattered across the back of the bar, the man I refused to serve standing with a curled upper lip. He mumbled a few things I couldn't make out over the music.
